Velzra was still lying in Craige's bed, his body curled beside him as he waited, anxious
and trembling, for his rut to begin. The red potion he had taken earlier was meant to trigger it early. He knew the risk: if an Alpha entered rut while an Omega was in heat, there was a strong chance of pregnancy. And Velzra could already feel it, his own heat was drawing near, simmering just beneath the
surface.
The scent of Craige clung to the sheets, thick and intoxicating. It made Velzra's body shiver with anticipation, desire, and fear all at once.
With a shaky breath, he reached for another vial, this one filled with a glowing blue
liquid. He uncorked it, letting the sharp scent sting his tongue before slipping it into his mouth. Then, leaning closer, he pressed his lips to Craige's and made him swallow the potion, careful and tender, but trembling
inside.
The blue vial was meant to make Craige weak and drowsy as his rut approached. Rolen, too, was being given the same dose every twelve hours.
Velzra knew that if he got pregnant, Craige wouldn't kill him, not while he was carrying
his child. That thought alone made something dangerous stir inside him.
He turned his gaze to the man sleeping beside him. Even unconscious, Craige looked powerful. His broad shoulders rose and fell slowly with every breath. The
strong line of his jaw was dusted with stubble, lips slightly parted, his skin warm and flushed from the effects of the potion.
Velzra's eyes traced the veins on Craige's arms, the sculpted muscles beneath his shirt, and the faint scent of him, strong, masculine, laced with heat, made his own
body tense in response.
A slow, breathy sigh escaped him. His thighs pressed together as a deep ache curled low
in his stomach.
He's beautiful when he's helpless, Velzra thought, a wicked smile touching his lips.
And soon… he'll be mine in every way, "If I could just make the potion of forgetfulness
I will make you drink it, but my alchemy is not yet perfect" He muttered
He reached out and gently touched Craige's chest, feeling the slow, steady heartbeat
beneath his palm.
"Sleep, my alpha," he whispered.
---
"What is happening?" Keith muttered, his brow furrowed with worry as he finished
reading Venn's letter.
It had been three days, far too long. The Duke should have returned by now, yet there was only silence.
"What is your plan?" General Max demanded, his tone sharp and cold. The two were no longer treated as guests, they were prisoners now.
"We don't know!" Omar cried out, gripping the bars of his cell. "I swear, my father wanted nothing but peace, an alliance!"
He was locked inside the dark, damp prison, while his sister remained confined to a
guarded room. They were still fed, and no torture had come, but fear lingered, thick in the air. The uncertainty gnawed at him, each hour heavier than the last
General Max and Keith were deep in conversation inside the general's office. The air was tense but laced with an undercurrent of hope.
"I still can't believe we already have a duchess," General Max said, shaking his head with a faint, amused smile.
"Well...not officially," Keith replied, his tone cautious. "It's a bit complicated. But His Grace will announce it soon, I'm sure." He wasn't about to reveal more, not until the Duke gave his word.
General Max nodded slowly, his eyes narrowing in thought.
"But it seems our youngest general has already chosen her side," he chuckled, recalling the young man who had dared to stand against them with unwavering conviction.
"That wildcard!" Keith burst out, unable to hold back a grin. "Bold little bastard."
He let out a sigh, ruffling his hair as if trying to shake off the weight of the waiting.
"I know His Grace is alright," he said, voice dropping with a hint of worry masked by
loyalty. "We just need to wait for his signal. And as for Roan… maybe they'll make a surprise visit. Show those barbarians exactly how strong the North truly is."
---
"My King…"
A soldier ran hurriedly. "An army is approaching, both from the ground and the sky!" he exclaimed.
Mor'Vekar stood abruptly. "Whose army?" he demanded. "Have our soldiers stand guard outside!" He rushed toward the watchtower.
"That's a thousand-strong army!" he exclaimed, scanning the horizon for the flag to identify which kingdom was attacking.
The army had already reached the plains.
"That's the flag of the North! But… the Duke is here?" the King said, confused.
A thunderous horn echoed from the sky, drawing every gaze upward, where a giant
bird hovered ominously.
"Raise the white flag!" the King shouted in panic as he noticed someone preparing to light an arrow.
They could be wiped out without even fighting.
The soldiers frantically waved the white flag.
"Who is commanding that army when the Duke is here? I don't think they're from General Max, who is guarding the South," said the King's General.
Luren raised his hand, signaling his squad to halt. The archers eased their aim, and
the arrows meant to light the way dropped harmlessly to the ground. They landed
softly on the plains near the cluster of houses, while others remained circling
in the air, wings and eyes sharp.
"Clara, shoot an arrow with a letter to the watchtower," Luren ordered, his voice calm
but laced with urgency.
"Yes, Sir," Clara responded briskly. She notched the arrow, the parchment tied tightly to its shaft, and let it fly with precision.
But before it could reach its mark, a King's guard caught it midair with surprising
reflexes.
"They're quick… and sharp-eyed," Clara muttered, half-laughing, impressed. She ducked slightly, peering toward the entrance of the tribal houses where shadows moved,
guards hidden, blending with the earth and wood.
Moments later, the King stood atop the watchtower, unfolding the letter. His eyes
scanned the words, his expression unreadable at first,
The
letter said,
'Open the gates—we're here to talk. Or would you prefer a rain of fire?'
Stamped with the duke's seal.
then he gave a small nod. With a firm gesture, he signaled his men.
Who dared to use the Duke of the North's seal while he's away? That's unheard of, an
outrage and a crime! Who would even dare such a thing? This makes no sense…
King Mor'Vekar thought, his mind clouded with confusion.
The heavy gates creaked open.